


Float like a butterfly

by Em_Jaye



Series: The Long Way Around [29]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/M, Fix-It, Historical References, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Roughness, Time Travel Fix-It, Vaginal Sex, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:00:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22641463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Em_Jaye/pseuds/Em_Jaye
Summary: Woody Allen once said, 'If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans." With that in mind, Darcy had to wonder if there was anyone who could make God laugh quite like Steve Rogers.October 30, 1974: Rumble in the Jungle
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers
Series: The Long Way Around [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1402126
Comments: 48
Kudos: 193





	Float like a butterfly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kattabaker (katttewks)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katttewks/gifts).



> For kattabaker, who so sweetly suggested/requested some wall sex and giving Steve a chance to show off his strength a little bit. Hope you like it, love! 
> 
> This fic also merits a big thanks to ladyaudiophile who bugged her dad for details on betting in the 70s. As well as amazon-x and anais who also offered their help. Takes a village to write a fanfic--I appreciate you! 
> 
> For everyone else, this is just porn. I mean, there's plot in the sense that it's part of this universe and it's filling a space between what happened last time and what's happening next time but. Uh. Yeah. This is just me being horny on main. So...enjoy?

Any other night, Darcy would not want to be here. In this crowded bar with the music blaring and the cigarette smoke hanging low and heavy in the air. Everything was hot and sweaty; even with her hair pulled up and off her neck, her top was sticking to her back and moving through the crowd to get to the bar was more akin to swimming upstream.

But she was going back to the bar anyway. Because Darcy was right on the cusp of tipsy and one more drink would push her pleasantly over the edge into buzzed territory. Not that she really needed any more to drink to sustain her giddy excitement and the bubbly feeling that kept her grinning as she inched her way to the bar. All she had to do was glance in the direction of the television in the corner of the cramped space where footage from the fight was still being played.

_“You can’t be serious,” David had said when she’d placed her bet._

_“I’m completely serious,” she’d told her co-workers before she turned back to the bookie. “Ali, please.”_

_“Honey,” Raymond shook his head, looking grievous. “I mean, you wanna throw your money away that’s on you but…” he let out a low whistle. “This is_ Foreman _, he’s fighting. You understand that, don’t you?”_

_But Darcy had only smiled and put her money down. “I know who he’s fighting,” she assured the two men who had let her tag along to their bookie’s office—a dingy hole in the wall across the street from the Ringside Cafe. “But nothing is going to make me bet against Muhammad Ali,” she shrugged her shoulders. “He’s the greatest of all time.”_

_“He_ was _the greatest of all time, sweetheart,” David was shaking his head as he watched Peaches count out her cash. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered when he realized how much she’d bet. “Steve know you’re doing this?”_

_“Gentlemen,” Peaches looked up from where he’d recorded her bet. “Lady’s placed her bet. Do the same or get out of my office.”_

They hadn’t believed her—hadn’t followed her lead—and the only regret she had about the evening was that she wasn’t able to see their faces when they watched George Foreman sway slightly on his feet and hit the canvas in his eighth round against Ali.

And even that wasn’t too hard to live with. She’d see them tomorrow, after all, when she was planning to walk a fine line between smug and insufferable. She managed to squeeze between two men recounting how The Champ had let Foreman tire himself out round after round and ordered a final rum and coke.

“You celebrating or drowning?” The guy to her right asked, surprising her while she waited for her drink.

“Celebrating,” she said cheerfully. In her tipsy state, she found his afro delightfully spherical and had to remind herself not to stare. “I knew The Champ still had it in him.”

“That’s what I said all week,” her new friend agreed with a nod to the man on her other side. “I don’t care how long he’s been outta the ring—”

“Yeah, yeah,” the other man shook his head and waived his hand. Darcy was less impressed with this man’s hair—dirty blonde and hanging past his shoulders. “Foreman’s never let me down before.”

“To be fair,” Darcy added with a grin, “he was definitely the safe bet.”

“But you took a risk anyway?” he asked, skeptically.

Her eyes scanned the crowded bar only once before easily spotting Steve at their table near the back—looking like he was trying very hard to convince their friends he wanted to be there while obviously counting the minutes until he could leave—and she smiled again. “Call me a romantic, but I can’t resist an underdog.”

The man on the right laughed. “Shit, girl, you ever think we’d be livin’ in a world where Ali’d be considered the underdog?”

Darcy’s grin widened. “I never thought I’d be doing a lot of things, brother. Betting on this fight is only one of ‘em.”

“Amen to that,” he said as the bartender returned with her drink and two additional shots. Her new friend pointed to her. “I got this one,” he told the bartender, who nodded, unconcerned.

“Thanks, man,” she said, clinking her glass with his before she turned to his companion. “Come on; you’re being a good sport,” she encouraged, pleased when she saw him fighting a smile before he grabbed his shot glass and clinked it with hers.

“Where are you celebrating the rest of the night, cutie?” he asked, with eyes that roamed freely over her curves once they’d each downed their shots and she’d sipped her rum and coke. 

“Oh, I’m heading home after this,” she said, rattling the ice in her glass.

He didn’t bother hiding his disappointment. “But it’s so early…” he slid an arm around her waist. “You’re running away before I barely got a chance to look at you.”

Darcy rolled her eyes and maneuvered away from him. “That kinda works out for me, doesn’t it?” she asked and pushed herself back into the crush of people. “Hands can’t touch what your eyes can’t see.”

He shook his head, looking wounded even as his friend snorted a laugh behind his hand. “That’s cold.”

She shrugged and moved her hips and shoulders, dancing instead of walking to disappear backwards into the crowd. “I didn’t say it,” she reminded him, pointing to the TV again where footage of Frost’s post-fight interview with Ali was still playing. “He did.”

To her relief, he didn’t follow her as she inched her way through the crowd and returned to the table where Linda’s husband had arrived—still in uniform—and stolen her chair.

She dropped onto Steve’s lap without warning and draped an arm over his shoulders. “Hi.”

He looked up, eyebrows raised. “Hi.” Up close, he looked even less like he wanted to be there than she’d thought.

She tilted her head to one side. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said stiffly before his gaze darted to the bar and he nodded in the direction from which she’d come. “Saw you making friends over there.”

Darcy rolled her eyes and looked over her shoulder to see her would-be suitor and his friend acknowledge Steve before they turned back to the bar. “Them?” she asked before she scoffed. “Just boys.” She put her lips closer to his ear. “No need to get jealous.”

She’d only been teasing, but to her surprise, Steve’s hand slid up onto her thigh and his fingers teased the hem of her short skirt. “I’m not jealous,” he assured her.

Darcy bit her lip. “Not even a little bit?”

His hand slid a little higher as he shook his head. “Not even a little bit.” He didn’t take his eyes off her while she sipped at her rum and coke. “How many drinks is that for you?”

“Mmm,” she hummed in thought around her swallow before she could speak. “Four—but these are pretty weak, so more like two and half.” It was her turn to raise her eyebrows. “Why? Cuttin’ me off?”

He smiled with a disarming innocence that didn’t match the way his thumb had pushed between her legs to stroke her inner thigh. “I just like to know which version of you I’m going home with.”

Darcy shifted on his lap, parting her legs just enough that if he wanted to, he could stop hinting at teasing her and slide his hand higher. “You could always just take me home and find out.”

Steve glanced around the crowded bar, the table full of their friends, the fight being replayed on the television. “I thought you were still celebrating your win, big spender,” he teased. His fingers crawled up her skirt another inch.

Trying to hide the way her breath had just caught in her throat, she shrugged, feigning indifference. “I could be persuaded to celebrate elsewhere.”

Steve’s lips twitched into a half smile that made her wish they were anywhere other than this very public place. “You sure?” he asked, his voice low enough that only she could hear him. “I don’t want to make you leave if you’re not ready.”

She shook her head, trying to hide the way she wanted to squirm and trap his hand between her thighs. “I’m ready.”

Abruptly, Steve untangled their limbs and peered around her to raise his voice. “Hey, we’re heading out,” he called. Darcy shuffled off his lap and threw down what she could of her drink in one last gulp.

“Thank God!” Janet’s voice from across the table startled her and she turned around to see her friend waving a hand clutching a cigarette towards the door. “I can’t even look at you, knowing how much goddamn money you just won,” she said, but she was grinning before she even finished her words. “Lunch better be on you, next week.”

“Oh, it will be,” Darcy rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “But in the meantime, green really isn’t your color, Janet,” she quipped back. “And if you’re all nice to me,” she added with a giggle while Steve shrugged into his coat. “I’ll cut you in on my hunch next time.”

“You better!” Linda cried before she looked over at Steve. “You okay to drive?”

He smiled and dropped his arm around Darcy’s shoulders. “Stone cold sober,” he promised, raising his other hand in a wave. “See you guys later.”

They only made it a few steps out the door toward the car before Steve’s friendly smile dropped away and he ducked into the space between the bar and its neighboring building, pulling Darcy roughly along with him. She nearly fell off her cork platforms with a giggle that sounded much drunker than she expected, but he caught her easily and pushed her up against the bricks. His lips crashed down on hers, drawing a little sound of surprise that fell into a muffled moan as she arched into him, her hands full of his shirt, pulling him harder and closer against her.

He was warm, his shirt clinging to him in places; he smelled like smoke and tasted like whiskey and none of it should have had her clamping her thighs together the way she was. Suddenly desperate and hot and torn between wishing he’d move his hands from where they’d anchored at her hips and hoping he didn’t, not sure what she’d do if he gave her any room to move.

“Home,” she said finally, yanking her head back to suck in a much-needed breath. Her chest rose and fell with her sharp, shallow breaths and she slid her hands up Steve’s chest. Her eyes moved from his mouth—wet from hers, to his eyes—darker and full of lust in the shadows from the nearest streetlamp. “Stop teasing and take me home.”

There was nothing graceful about the way they crashed into their apartment, but Darcy didn’t care. Not with the way Steve pushed her back up against the door the moment he’d slammed it behind them. She heard him twist the lock before he took hold of her face and kissed her roughly, sucking her tongue into his mouth, swallowing her moans as she pulled at his clothes. Feeling drunk and giddy and flushed with want, she shoved his shirt up and over his head, gulping for a breath as she dropped it to the floor.

Steve’s hand moved from her face to her neck and she groaned again, clenching on nothing. She arched hard into his other hand as he worked it under her shirt. “No, keep doing that,” she breathed when the pressure on her throat relaxed.

He pulled back from the kiss he’d been about to continue, a question in his eyes. He shook his head slightly. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t,” she promised, still breathing hard as she took hold of his face. “You’d never hurt me.” That was the thrill. That she knew Steve _could_ hurt her with very little effort, but that he never would. That she could trust him that much. To prove her point, she dragged his hand back down to her neck while her other hand threaded into his hair, pulling him back in for another kiss. “Just don’t squeeze,” she said, the moment before their lips touched. She felt him smile and her little flicker of anxiety was doused by another wave of desire; she opened her mouth beneath his and moaned her approval when his tongue swept against hers.

His other hand groped at one breast and then the other before it skated down her stomach and around to grip her ass tightly. Darcy’s knees wobbled and she leaned back harder against the door to steady herself. She pulled at his waist, pinning his hips to hers so she could feel how hard he was. He groaned against her lips when she palmed his erection through his jeans, and she felt him smile again when her fingers started working to undo his belt. “Darcy…”

“Please,” she managed to get the buttons and zipper undone before she pulled away and looked up at him. “Please fuck me.”

“What, here?” he breathed, looking between them.

Darcy bit her lip and nodded. “Please,” she added once more for good measure before Steve grabbed hold of her and hauled her up, pinning her higher against the door. Another thrill shot through her as she wrapped her legs around his waist, and she felt him push her short skirt up and over her hips. Her panties were ripped off in a matter of seconds, shreds of fabric he tossed aside in the moment before his fingers were there, sliding against her, already slick with her arousal.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured.

“I told—” she sucked in a sharp inhale when he pressed two fingers down to circle her clit, “you I was ready.”

He smirked again. “You did.”

She clung to him tightly as he shoved his pants far enough down his hips to free his cock before her back hit the door again and he pushed into her with a deep moan. His fingers gripped her ass tightly as he thrust up, hard and fast, his thumbs dug into her hips so deep she knew she’d have bruises when she woke up.

But she didn’t care. Each move he made hit her in just the right spot, so deep it almost tickled and the sounds he was pulling from her were more like low, throaty laughter. She felt him smile against her skin when he buried his face in her neck; the sweat from his temple mingling with her own. He pressed hot, open mouthed kisses to her throat, sucking on the pulse point beneath her jaw. She clenched her teeth and groaned; her nails dug into his back and he gripped her tighter and bounced her like she weighed nothing at all.

“You’re so good,” he whispered against her neck. Darcy grinned and rolled her head to the side to give him better access. His teeth grazed her earlobe. “So fucking smart.”

She huffed out another breath and tightened her legs around his hips, pulling him even closer, desperate for more friction against her clit. “So, you’re not mad that I—” Steve shifted them back against the door again and she mashed her lips together, muffling an embarrassingly loud moan when his cock dragged against her just right. “Fuck,” she breathed, trying to remember what she’d been about to say. “That I broke a _Back to the Future_ rule?”

Steve stopped suddenly, thrust fully inside her and captured her lips in a kiss—a filthy mess that had her moaning around his tongue and desperately trying to roll her hips against his. He pulled back, breathless, and dropped his forehead to hers. “Do I seem like I’m mad?”

Darcy breathed out a smile and shook her head. “No.” She felt so full and so close to the edge with him so deep. “You really don’t.”

He kissed her, taking advantage of how he’d pinned her between the door and his body to reach up and hold her face with one hand. “You break as many rules as you want,” he said roughly, bringing that hand to her neck again. “You’re fucking brilliant.”

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth again and gripped his shoulder tighter with one arm to slide her other hand between them, watching how his eyes followed her fingers as she began to rub her clit. “Steve,” she whined, trying to roll her hips. “Steve, I’m so close.”

“Okay,” he kept his hand on her throat and kissed her again.

“Just go fast,” she begged, pressing the words against his lips. “Please.” 

He did. He pushed her harder up against the door as he started moving again. Hard and fast; groaning when Darcy’s fingers stilled and she came with a cry, her body contracting to grip him tight, every part of her sparking with pleasure. He crashed his mouth to hers again, thrusting faster until his rhythm faltered, and he broke away with a choked moan that she wanted to swallow and hold tight in her lungs.

They stared at each other in the dark, the only sound in the room their hushed breathing until Steve shifted his hips to pull out without setting her down. Darcy clung to him as he took a few steps back and dropped them down into the armchair. “Holy shit,” she sighed and slumped to rest her forehead on his chest. She was a mess—sticky and sweaty, her clothes and hair wrecked—she desperately needed a shower. Maybe after she could feel her legs again. “I should win us five grand every week.”

"Fuck," Steve’s chest rumbled with a deep laugh. “Is that how much you won?”

She looked up and offered a guilty smile. “At least. I was saving pennies all year for this payout.”

He took hold of her chin and tilted her face to his for a kiss. Sweeter and far more gentle than the way he’d just been plundering and bruising her lips with his own. “Not that I’m encouraging you to keep gambling,” he said, making her smile before he pulled back, looking curious, “but how many more of these do you have up your sleeve?”

Darcy bit her lip. “A handful,” she admitted. “I have most of the famous ones memorized—and that’s not counting the stock market.”

His thumb stroked her cheek. “Did I tell you you’re brilliant?”

She moved her shoulder. “I just have a good memory,” she said, glad for their dark living room and the way it hid the blush his words brought to her cheeks. “And we deserve a win every now and then, don’t we? Anyway,” she went on, shifting on his lap, “I’m not taking any big risks. Just the sure things.”

Steve pulled her in and kissed her again. “Just the sure things,” he repeated softly.

Darcy grinned again, her turn to pull back. “But, y’know,” she cleared her throat and glanced over her shoulder at the door before she looked back, “if you ever want to do that again, you don’t have to wait for me to win a bunch of money to do it.”

He laughed. “I’ll remember that.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you are curious as to what a fight between two legitimate, real-life warriors looks like, you can find it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=55AasOJZzDE. I watched this fight about a dozen times growing up as well as a dozen more while I was writing this fic. Enjoy it!
> 
> (PS: Peaches was the name of my dad's bookie. I didn't ask him for his help for this fic, but I recall more than a few stories about Peaches while I was growing up.) 
> 
> <3
> 
> Hope you liked it!
> 
> Come play with me on tumblr: @idontgettechnology and join me at ishipitpod.com for weekly podcast on fandom and fanfic by yours truly.
> 
> *kisses*


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